


What Would 007 Do?

by Miss_M



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Banter, F/M, First Kiss, First Meetings, Mission Fic, Puns & Word Play, Rare Pairings, Spies & Secret Agents, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-03 13:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11533494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_M/pseuds/Miss_M
Summary: “My name is Tanner. William Tanner. I am here to assist you.”She raised a perfect eyebrow. “M sentyouto assistme? Brilliant.”





	What Would 007 Do?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marginaliana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginaliana/gifts).



> This takes place between _Quantum of Solace_ and _Skyfall_. I own nothing.

“I, ma’am? Surely one of the Double-0 agents would be better qualified.” 

It was a sign of Bill Tanner’s desperation that he resorted to stating the obvious. And it was a sign of why his superior had risen to her eminent position that she did not comment on Tanner’s poor attempt at deflection. 

“I am sending you on a simple intelligence-gathering operation, Tanner,” M replied. “All Double-0’s and most other agents are busy clearing up those godawful messes in Mogadishu and Sri Lanka, not to mention the kerfuffle in the Atacama Desert. I would not be sending you if I did not think you were up to the task.” 

She almost succeeded in making it sound as though Tanner were not her last resort. 

“Ma’am, while I appreciate your faith in my abilities, I must remind you that I have never worked in the field.” 

M’s tone turned exasperated. “Oh for heaven’s sake. You are familiar with basic field protocol, aren’t you? And how to use a firearm?”

Tanner nodded. All MI6 agents received the same training before being assigned to different tasks within the service. 

M picked up and unscrewed the top of her silver Smythson pen, signaling the conversation was over. “Well, then. You will go to Venice, contact Agent Moneypenny, and assist her in any way she deems necessary. Meanwhile I will be here, keeping the Prime Minister abreast of developments.” She glanced up at Tanner standing on the other side of her desk, and her ice-blue gaze melted a little. “Buck up, Tanner: you will have the easier job.”

Tanner refrained from suggesting they switch places. He could do an admirable job of briefing the PM. He was less certain what use he would be to this Agent Moneypenny while gathering intel on an international smuggling ring operating out of Venice. Of course he kept these thoughts to himself. _Ours is not to question why_ , and all that. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

*

Q’s expression did not change, apart from the fact that he was staring at Tanner without blinking for longer than was healthy. 

“You?” Q said. “You are going to Venice?”

“I am. Yes.” Tanner kept his tone as well as his gaze level.

“Right. Well. Lucky you, I’ve been working on something new that I think will be just the ticket.”

Q rummaged around on a work station. Tanner tried not to crane his neck for a look: would Q retrieve a pistol, a tracker, an explosive device?

Q turned back to Tanner with a streak of something dark hanging from his arm. “Here you go. Ultralight, sweat-absorbent, this should stop any caliber up to .45 as well as any knife. I shouldn’t risk it if faced with someone wielding an axe, though.” 

Tanner took the black vest from Q. “I don’t suppose it comes in midnight blue, does it?”

To his credit, Q did not roll his eyes, but only just. “You are trying to sound like _him_ ,” he told Tanner kindly. “Don’t. Just… be yourself.” 

The brief, embarrassed silence that followed spared Tanner needing to point out that ‘be yourself’ was hardly useful advice when he was about to go on his first field mission, and that Q bloody well knew it. They were Englishmen. They did not find it necessary to belabor moments of social embarrassment.

Tanner preferred to say something practical: “Is there a gun that goes with the vest?”

*

The Venice Biennale meant the lagoon was crowded with watercraft, every other palazzo hosted an art installation as the backdrop to a lavish party, and a woman as beautiful as Eve Moneypenny fit in perfectly among the couture’d and coiffed _beau monde_ , whereas Tanner stood out even worse than he’d feared he might. Nor did Agent Moneypenny seem delighted when he approached her at a crowded outdoor café and uttered the password ( _Venice gets a lot of rain this time of year_ ). 

“Who the hell are you?” she said in lieu of the prearranged response. ( _Yes, but not as much as London._ )

Tanner straightened his spine in the hope it would add an inch to his height. “My name is Tanner. William Tanner. I am here to assist you.” 

She raised a perfect eyebrow. “M sent _you_ to assist _me_? Brilliant. Strike one for gender parity in the intelligence services. The boss may be a woman, but female agents get male desk jockeys to nanny them.” 

She picked up her cappuccino cup for an irritated sip, leaving a streak of plum-colored lipstick on its white porcelain rim.

Tanner couldn’t suppress a flash of irritation at the disparaging remark about their superior. “Now, hang on just a minute. I am not here to nanny you or to have you condescend to me, Agent Moneypenny. M sent me to offer logistical support and courier the information _you_ will procure back to London. This is still your operation, but not even Double-0 agents operate entirely on their own. We’re all on the same side, in case you’ve forgotten.” 

He hated to descend to the level of cliché, but Tanner could not escape the impression that Agent Moneypenny’s eyes could best be described as doe-like, now that she was no longer glaring sullenly. She gave Tanner a long, level look, then she pushed an empty chair away from the table with her foot. 

“Sit down.”

He did. A silence ensued while she waved a waiter over. 

“You’re right. Sorry,” she said once they were alone again. “I just got used to working alone, I suppose, what with everyone else focusing on Mogadishu and Latin America.” 

She was avoiding Tanner’s eye, nor did he insist on eye-contact. Good manners mattered as much in the field as they did around the office or the dinner table. 

“Right.” He looked up from the tiny espresso cup that appeared before him. Agent Moneypenny watched him expectantly, but not in challenge. “Would you like to fill me in on the progress of your operation?”

She got a spark in her eyes, one Tanner knew well from other field agents: the hunter scenting prey. She leaned closer across the tiny, round table and smiled as she began to tell Tanner about a reception that evening, at which she – _they_ , she corrected herself – intended to retrieve a microchip containing documentation about all of their targets’ illegal operations on three continents. 

*

The night was filled with the slap of canal water against wharves and gondolas, the tinkle of music and tipsy laughter, and the sharp staccato of high heels on cobblestones. Tanner adjusted his bowtie and the gun under his armpit as he approached the palazzo where their mission objective awaited.

Walking purposefully beside him, Agent Moneypenny looked stunning in a floor-length, wine-red gown with a sheen on it like the Venetian lagoon under moonlight and a very high slit up one leg. In her strappy sandals, she had a couple of inches on Tanner. The light scattered by streetlamps on the water brought out the highlights in her hair and leant a golden sheen to her skin. She looked smooth all over, like the boundary between the satin of her gown and her own skin did not exist. Tanner couldn’t begin to fathom where she’d concealed her weapon.

Watching her out of the corner of his eye, Tanner experienced a sudden, visceral desire to see her dressed in a tiny swimsuit and nothing else, backlit by the enormous setting sun in some warmer clime. He was instantly ashamed of the thought. Eve Moneypenny was a colleague, a highly skilled operative, and by all appearances a fine human being, and Tanner prided himself on being a gentleman. Nevertheless, his palms sweated with the intense desire to touch her. He wiped them sternly on his tailored jacket and offered Agent Moneypenny his arm. 

“Shall we?” 

The brilliant, game smile she gave Tanner as she threaded her arm through his should not have delighted him as it did. Arm in arm, they entered the palazzo, which teemed with partygoers – and danger. 

*

Bill Tanner’s grandfather had been butler to the Earl of Chisholm. His father had worked for the Bank of England and scrimped and saved for half his life so that Bill could attend the Dragon School, followed by Cambridge, and become the youngest assistant to the MI6 chief in the service’s history. The perfect poker face was a Tanner family tradition, likely embedded in their DNA. 

It served Bill Tanner well when faced with three rather large men sporting automatic weapons and menacing expressions, who appeared behind him and Agent Moneypenny in the antechamber of the room where the data packet was located.

Tanner thought feverishly: what would 007 do in this situation? 

007 would probably shoot and punch his way out, paraglide down to a speedboat waiting on the canal with the data packet in his pocket and Agent Moneypenny in his arms, and then no doubt kiss her off her feet and into his bed. As plans which Tanner might execute went, wondering what 007 would do was not terrifically helpful.

One of the men ordered them to get their hands up in Russian. The door of the room with the data packet opened, and one automatic weapon motioned them inside while the other two remained trained on Tanner and Moneypenny’s torsos.

“Oh dear,” Tanner said while one of the men removed his gun from the holster under his arm and Moneypenny’s from the holster on her ( _red, lace_ ) garter. 

“Hmmm,” Moneypenny concurred. “Indeed.”

*

The man who greeted them inside, standing in front of a bank of computer screens playing news and stock-market reports from around the world, did not sound Russian. Tanner could not quite pinpoint his accent, but then he was not concentrating on divining the man’s identity – Tanner’s attention was taken up with the microchip with which the man kept playing, passing it between his fingers like a gambling chit, as well as the fact that a gun made a telltale bulge in the man’s jacket pocket and that only one of his men remained in the room with the three of them.

The man’s words penetrated through Tanner’s mental calculations at last.

“What’s this?” the man sneered. “I have captured the famous James Bond and his lady friend, and he is lost for words?”

“Now, now,” Agent Moneypenny piped up. “You’re hurting my feelings. I’m not James Bond, and this man is not my lady friend.”

Her defiant attitude spurred Tanner into action. Before the man could respond to Moneypenny’s provocation, Tanner picked up where she’d left off: “Anyway, our identities are not your primary concern right now. That red dot on your center screen is.” 

“Please, Mr. Bond. You do not think I will fall for such an obvious ploy.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Tanner said, rolling his shoulders as though he were settling in on a couch with a double scotch, completely at ease. “It wouldn’t make any difference whether you looked or not. That red dot is our tech division hacking into your system. The bigger the dot gets, the closer our backup is, and the dot is getting really quite big.”

Moneypenny shifted her weight beside him. “Very big,” she said, her tone dripping with innuendo. “Positively enormous, I’d say.”

The man’s hand with the microchip stilled. He stared at them for a long second before he dropped the chip on the desk in order to reach into his pocket as he half turned to look at the screens. 

Tanner charged him. The man twisted back like a cornered snake, his hand produced a snub-nosed pistol from his pocket, there was a sharp bang in the small room, and Tanner felt all the air get knocked out of him a moment before his entire body weight collided with his target. 

For a long second, they wrestled on the floor, Tanner still trying and failing to draw a deep breath, when Moneypenny’s voice filled the room: “Let him go, and let go of that gun. Now!”

The man barely hesitated before he dropped the gun. Tanner kicked it away, then turned and saw Moneypenny with her thighs wrapped around the sole bodyguard’s throat, the man’s face turning purple and his tongue protruding obscenely from his mouth. Her red-lace garter was in full view in her current position. The bodyguard’s smoking pistol was still in his outstretched hand, with Moneypenny’s hand wrapped over both, forcing the man’s arm to point at his boss – and at Tanner. 

Her eyes were trained on Tanner’s torso. “Are you injured? I couldn’t get to him before he squeezed off a shot,” she said urgently. 

Tanner undid the front of his crisp white shirt and showed her Q’s new bulletproof jacket. The relieved look on her face should not have made Tanner feel warm all over, it really shouldn’t have. 

“If you are in control of the situation, Agent Moneypenny, I think I need to sit down and get my breath back.”

He ended up lying down on the floor in the antechamber while Moneypenny handcuffed their quarry and secured the microchip. She squatted beside Tanner once she had rejoined him. 

“Why didn’t you go for the gun?” she demanded. 

“I knew your best shot would be vastly superior to my best shot.” 

Moneypenny burst into laughter. “Oh well done, that was almost worthy of a Double-0, only I don’t think they go in for self-deprecation.” 

Tanner smiled, his breaths still coming fast and shallow. “We aim to please and live to serve.” 

Moneypenny laughed so hard at that, she had to kneel down on the floor next to Tanner and rest her hand on his chest in order to stay upright. 

“I can’t decide whether what you did back there was incredibly brave or incredibly stupid,” she said finally, still laughing a little. 

“A bit of both, I suspect,” Tanner admitted. “Q Branch employs some excellent people, but I didn’t really have time to calculate the odds of this vest holding up before I rushed him, so that you could deal with the other one.”

She was smiling, looking down at Tanner, her hand pressed to his chest. Tanner allowed himself to enjoy it – the adrenaline rush would account for the harried tempo of his heart. 

Moneypenny took her hand off his chest and wrapped it around his arm. “Come on, let’s get you up. I know a discreet doctor here in Venice who can check that you don’t have any cracked ribs, Tanner.” 

Laboring upright, Tanner spoke before he could think better of it. “I think, given the circumstances, you might call me by my name.” 

They were standing, and she was again taller than he, lithe and strong as Diana the huntress. Her eyes shone like amber in the dim room. “William.” 

She sounded like she was trying his name on for size. Tanner decided he’d let her try anything and everything of his on for size. 

“Bill,” he corrected gently. “William is my father. I’m just Bill.” 

She smiled. “Just Bill. I’m Eve. Don’t make any jokes about biting apples or handling serpents, I’ve heard them all before.”

* 

Though the sun would burn off the Venetian fog later in the day, dawn was chilly and damp when Moneypenny ( _Eve_ ) saw him off at the vaporetto stop. Their target was in the custody of the carabinieri, the microchip was encased in a titanium shell coded to M’s DNA, hanging from a titanium string around Tanner’s neck, and his bruised ribs were wrapped tightly with bandages. 

Tanner took a deep breath of the Venetian air, redolent of fish and history. “Eve, I was wondering, when you are back in London and have been debriefed, perhaps you would like to...” 

“Yes, I would,” she interrupted him. 

“Right. Right. You see, I am not certain what would be appropriate on such short acquaintance, even if we are fire-forged friends now. Tea at Fortnum & Mason? Supper? A stroll around the British Museum? Personally I prefer the National Gallery, but one always runs into people from work there...” 

He was prattling. He couldn’t seem to stop his mouth from moving. Eve laid her hand on his sleeve.

“Yes to any, yes to all,” she said warmly. “You might even risk suggesting a pint in a pub or a trip to the cinema. Here.” She handed him a piece of hotel stationery folded in half. “My private number. Harder to trace than if I typed it into your service-issue phone. You know how nosey everyone at HQ can be.” 

Tanner accepted the paper and resisted the urge to press it to his lips – she had brought the note with her to see him off. “You shall find a message from me waiting for you when you get home. A formal invitation.” 

Eve laughed. “I should bloody well hope so! Do you realize that any other agent would have asked me much, much sooner, probably with a pun about debriefing me?” 

“I prefer to surprise you.” Tanner spotted the vaporetto approaching over Eve’s shoulder. “Although now I think about it, being a bit predictable can serve one well in the field.” 

“Just Bill, what _are_ you talking about?” 

“This.” 

He did not sweep her into his arms, dip her over his thigh, and startle her with a kiss, like 007 would have done. Bill Tanner closed the short distance separating him from Eve Moneypenny quickly enough that his intention was clear, yet slowly enough that he could see her smile in anticipation. He rose up on tiptoe, threaded his fingers through her curls, and kissed her, soft and deep. 

It was she who tightened her arms around him – making his ribs protest, not that Tanner cared – and turned the kiss into a promise of more as well as a polite suggestion. Ever the gentleman, Tanner was happy to reciprocate in kind.


End file.
